Variance
by DutchNight
Summary: The slightest variance leads to a new situation and a new meeting, and from there, everything changes, including the beginning of a dangerous obsession. Eventual L/H, not for many chapters.
1. Meetings

Disclaimer – I do not own Harry Potter and I make no money from the proceeding work.

* * *

Variance

Chapter One: Meetings

He remembered the first time he saw her. He never could forget though he didn't realize at the time the impact of their first meeting. It was the beginning of something strange and binding, something that never should have begun, yet it now engulfed his mind with turmoil. It was the beginning of sleepless nights, of questioning unquestionable values, of relearning truths, but also of plumbing the unknown depths of his heart and soul.

* * *

It was the beginning of an obsession.

The Leaky Cauldron. A tavern like most, with old friends quietly drinking in time-worn companionship, and loud laughter and jesting from schoolboys home during the summer goading each other to greater follies and more daring acts typical of youth. A place of meeting for starry-eyed lovers at private tables as well as jaded old men and their paid ladies, boldly striding or innocuously sneaking to a private room. A den where plots are hatched in hushed whispers and business endeavors cajoled and bargained. But this tavern, this Leaky Cauldron, is different from most. Every pub has its cadre of people performing their roles, but not many include phrases such as "Ministry of Magic has done it again," "the Quidditch Supply Store has a new Shooting Star!" "remember our days back at Hogwarts?" They also do not contain clients wearing robes of varying material and quality, nor pointed hats, nor does the occasional wand come in view. And certainly, the Leaky Cauldron is unique in the fact that it is a doorway from one world into the next, from the world of technology and electricity, to the world where problems are solved by a wave of a length of wood, by magic.

Only those with magic pulsing through their veins, awoken magic used but once, can see the normally hidden dim doorway into the tavern.

Which is why when the little slip of a girl opened the heavy wood door and entered, not a soul paid attention. People too absorbed in their own business did not notice, even when the girl with more hair than sense stood still in the entranceway, staring wonderingly at the strangely-dressed denizens within. Her eyes caught the bartender waving his wand to pour a beer, a broom sweeping under a table without a person behind it, and a youth dressed in black robes nodding over his copy of _Standard Book of Spells Part Five_. Though her common sense was momentarily absent, for she was alone without guardians, her sharp mind studied the environment and drew a conclusion.

She took a small step, eager to explore yet cautious of such an unfamiliar setting, but without warning a large figure with long blonde hair descended majestically from a staircase, shoulders thrown back and eyes imperiously sweeping across the room as if they belonged to a ruler surveying his kingdom. Behind him followed another man, this one scurrilous with an air of obsequiousness to the first man as well as a faint expression of distaste and anger. He quickly brushed by the first man and disappeared through another doorway, and the blonde sneered. The girl instinctively knew that this man held the answers she sought, and, having made up her mind, quickly stepped forward while he was briefly paused. She softly but insistently tugged at his outer robe, and he whirled around with a curse on his lips. The girl jumped, startled, but gathered her courage.

The man scowled dangerously at the blatant audacity. His wand, half-drawn, he placed discreetly up his sleeve. The chit had surprised him and even six years after the fall of the Dark Lord, he still had not lost his ingrained instincts of survival. The small girl fidgeted, but gathered her courage and spoke.

"Sir, is this really magic? Are you a wizard?"

He stepped back, wrenching his robes from her dirty grasp, and crossed his arms, fingers tapping slowly. He glared at her and opened his mouth to utter a derisive reply but was interrupted.

"Well, you see, sir, I think it's magic, and I think I might be magic." She paused as if expecting a response, but quickly continued breathlessly before he could interject. "I don't know anyone who has magic, but the other day I was tired of being chased and being teased and hurt by stupid Tommy Marks and Johnny Davies and then they cornered me after school and I was so scared but just so _tired_ of it all and I wanted to hurt them and so," she paused again and continued as if she disbelieved herself, "I hurt them, sir, with my _mind_. I just wanted them to feel my pain, I wanted it so badly, and they dropped to the ground, screaming."

The man's expression did not change, but inwardly he was stunned. The girl was describing accidental magic, something that all children show in some form if they are magical, but he had never heard of someone performing a _Cruciatus_ as their first manifestation of magic. Such a feat required incredible concentration, a strong will, and a powerful innate magical ability.

His curiosity drove him to question the impudent child. "How old are you?" he asked with a drawl, somehow implying both nonchalance and innate superiority.

She bristled at his tone and raised her chin to stare him directly in the eyes. "I'm nearly 8, sir."

The man shook his head slightly, as if the innocent answer contradicted his preconceptions with the result something to be disbelieved. Assuredly, this was a future student at Hogwarts who would be in his son's class. Perhaps her inherent power could override her more than unfortunate bloodline, or at least partially conceal the defect. He was forced to admit to himself that any child, even a mudblood, who could summon the appropriate measures to cast an Unforgiveable was worthy of being a companion to his son. So long as she understood her place and was sorted into the correct House.

Every leader needs followers, and if he had any influence over the matter, his son would be a leader.

The child fidgeted beneath his cold visage; her earlier bravado had vanished when it achieved only more scorn. She stuck out her hand. "My name is Hermione Granger."

He shifted his gaze to her hand hanging in midair and took an abrupt step backwards. "My name is inconsequential to you, girl. You are in a different world now. I suggest you learn about it and who not to bother with your incessant rambling."

He turned sharply on his heel and strode through the far door. She lowered her hand, confused about his abruptness, but eyes gleaming as if she held the key to Paradise. Suspicions about a strange new world confirmed, Hermione swore to herself that she would discover all she could.

* * *

The man stirred himself, lost in thought once more, noting with annoyance that it occurred far too frequently. He prided himself on control, yet these connected recent and past events always sent him to deep contemplation. It made him uneasy.

If there was one thing Lucius Malfoy hated most of all, it was the loss of control

He sat back in his office chair and steepled his fingers. His office was his inner sanctum, for no one entered without his explicit permission. It was the only place he could let down his guard. Perhaps that was why he allowed his mind to wander a well-traveled path back to the past once again.

Their second meeting was not so innocently orchestrated on his part, but never had he thought that it would progress as it had.

* * *

When Lucius returned to Malfoy Manor after putting down the chit Hermione Granger to his satisfaction, he found that he could not let the opportunity pass by him. Slytherins were supposed to be opportunists, and he was no exception. To find such potential in a mudblood was galling at best, but if he could control the leash and turn a likely future supporter of that meddling old muggle-lover, Albus Dumbledore, then many possibilities opened up for Lucius. With his tutelage, the girl could be used to great political advantage to advance his own agenda. Lucius took a moment to savor the potential in the scheme, and to plan.

During the midnight hours, he rose from the black silk sheets of his kingly bed and dressed in his normal black robes. Earlier, as soon as he realized the possible usefulness of the girl, Lucius had discreetly placed a non-verbal Tracking charm on her, one tied to her magical signature. He had done so with his wand while it was up his sleeve and hands behind his back. Inwardly praising himself for his forethought, Lucius activated the charm. So long as she did not enter a high-magic area such as Hogwarts or Diagon Alley or discover it and remove it herself, he would be able to find her. Since she had only just found out about magic, he thought it was quite doubtful that she would even know to look for such a charm, not to mention her lack of knowledge of how to remove it.

With the hood up, concealing his identity from casual confirmation, he apparated to the Leaky Cauldron.

Lucius stood in the muggle world outside the dim doorway to the magical pub. He closed his eyes, feeling the bond between his wand and the spell, and he felt it tug slightly in one direction. He followed it carefully, never losing the trace. Though it took him several hours and much irritated grumbling, Lucius eventually found himself standing in front of a neighborhood of upscale apartments. He reached for the doorknob, but paused before drawing his wand and casting several charms to ensure that his presence remained unnoticed and unknown. He unlocked the door and cast both a Notice-Me-Not Spell and an Invisibility Spell on himself. Though the invisibility charm was notoriously unreliable and lasted only a few minutes, that was all the time Lucius needed.

He slowly opened the door and felt the tug of the charm grow more insistent, signifying that the target was close at hand. He followed the directions of the spell until he stood in front of an apartment, then through the rooms until he reached what was most assuredly the bedroom door. Lucius cracked open the door and cast a Sleeping Charm on the motionless body in the bed before striding into the room. From a robe pocket, he pulled out a shrunken book. He dispelled the shrinking charm and laid it on top of her bedside desk, which was cluttered with other choice readings. He frowned as he glanced through the titles. The chit had forged ahead and had figured out how to enter Diagon Alley, exchange muggle money for wizarding, and found the bookstore, regardless of the danger of wandering alone. Unless muggle bookstores sold, _So You Think You're A Wizard_ and _A Brief Expose on Recent Wizarding History_, but he strongly doubted that.

In spite of himself, he was impressed. This slip of a girl, without any knowledge of the wizarding world or how it worked, had navigated it successfully. Lucius had no doubt that he himself could do so in the muggle world, as if he ever would lower himself to it, but the thought that his son could do the same was much less certain. More like laughable. Draco was much more likely simply to order a random passerby to do his bidding rather than use simple observation that the girl had likely done.

Still, no matter if he was impressed or not, he had to curb her behavior. With glimmers of ideas and half-hatched plots percolating in his mind, Lucius conjured up parchment and a quill and ink and wrote a quick note to the girl. It advised her strongly to read and to absorb the knowledge contained between the covers of the book, and contained a stern warning to stay out of the wizarding world. Though he told her that it was for her safety, it was in actuality for his own safety and plots as well; he wanted no other influences on her until his was absolute.

Satisfied, he turned to leave, when the moon broke through the clouds and shone through the window on Hermione Granger's face. Lucius was struck by the glow of her fair skin, the shadows caused by rifts and valleys in her face as well as her bushy hair. For a brief second as the soft light illuminated her, he saw the image of the girl as she would look in the future, as a woman superimposed over the childish face. It was a study in contrasts, yet a picture of innocence. Her lips were not pursed, nor were her eyes staring defiantly or furtively averted, as they had been today. Instead, they were full and smiling softly, eyes bright and crinkling with laughter. Her baby fat disappeared, leaving taut and beautiful flesh. Her eyebrows thinned and arched, her chin bespoke pride and confidence. Her innocence became a look of self-assurance and poise granted by inward strength. It was a mesmerizing portrait of her potential and Lucius could not look away.

He blinked and the image vanished as if it had never been there. He found his right hand stretched out towards the girl, fingers nearly grazing her cheek, and jerked it back. Already doubting the vision of comeliness out of the homely girl, he berated himself for his uncharacteristic folly and foolishness, reminding himself that the chit was a future investment and nothing else.

Without looking at her again, he turned on his heel and disapparated with a quiet pop.


	2. Readings

Chapter Two: Readings and Meetings

The sun shone through the window and fell upon the fragile face of the small girl. She wrinkled her nose and yawned as she turned away from the early morning light. As her mind replayed the previous day, it seemed merely a fanciful dream caused by too much sugar and television. She sighed and her eyes gradually opened, but the first object she saw caused her to shoot up excitedly. Maybe it wasn't a dream after all, for her eyes landed upon three books, _A Brief Expose on Recent Wizarding History_, _So You… _Wait. Hermione frowned. Three books? She only had a few pounds on her yesterday and the exchange rate into wizarding money was very unfavorable, so she could only afford to buy two books. Why were there three on her desk?

She picked up the new book, titled _Pillars of the World: Generational Pureblood Families and Their Family History_. It was quite thick, bigger than either of her other choices. When she placed it in her lap, it fell open to a page bookmarked with a folded piece of thick paper with a very odd texture. Hermione kept the book open to the page, but took out and flipped open the unusual bit of paper.

_Hermione Granger,_

_You do not know me, and I do not intend that you do so. I need neither your gratitude or your obeisance for my gift to you, for it is indeed a gift that will begin you on your new journey, to leave behind the mundane Muggle world for the wonders of the Wizarding._

_Ah yes, child, you are definitely a witch. _

_I heard your story this day, but did not get a chance to speak with you to properly welcome you to your new society. Trust me, girl, now that you have awakened your powers you will find the Muggle existence cold and rewardless compared to the excitement of the Wizarding world to which you now belong. There is no doubt in my mind that you will receive in three years' time a letter of admittance from the prestigious Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but in the meantime there is no reason why you cannot continue to grow in knowledge and information._

_You are certainly quite a resourceful little girl to navigate Diagon Alley at such a tender age and I must congratulate you on your excellent choices of reading material. Both are adequate introductions for you, but I also insist that you read my selection for you in addition. It will give you a thorough grounding in basic Pureblood culture and customs, very important if you wish to make friends with the correct people._

_However impressed I am with the success of your little foray into Diagon Alley, I must forewarn you that it cannot happen again. I am incapable of stressing enough how lucky you were to make it through safe, as it is all too easy to wander off of the safe path into a more dangerous area where a little girl untrained in magic is easy prey for various nefarious persons. You must not return there without a magical guardian there beside you to guide and protect you._

_I am serious, little one. If I hear that you have wandered back into the Leaky Cauldron and further, then I will never send you another book or letter. You are on your own._

_Yes, I do plan on helping you develop a thorough understanding of the fundamental basics of the Wizarding world. Perhaps it is because too many young witches and wizards from non-magical families get lost in mediocrity and thus I will not discard this opportunity._

_If you wish to reply, leave a letter on your desk when you slumber and I will devise a way to retrieve and answer it as quickly as is possible._

Hermione rubbed the paper gently as her brow furrowed, deep in thought. Who could this mysterious anonymous writer be? She was certain that it could not be the rude man she had accosted the previous day. The blonde aristocrat, for that was how he acted, surely had better things to do with his valuable time and he had seemed disgusted with her. No, it had to be a bystander who had listened in on the one-sided conversation and wanted to help.

Satisfied with her reasoning, and much more eager to devour her new book than to derive the identity of her benefactor, Hermione looked at the open page.

_How to Recognize (and Show Proper Deference to) the Elite Pureblood Families_

_With fewer ancient pureblood families unsullied by new infusions of muggleborn or even half-bloods because of deep prejudice against the practice of doing so, the remaining families hold even greater power than when they were more numerous (the most recent loss being the marriage of pureblood paterfamilias James Potter to a muggleborn wife). Several prominent positions may legally be held only by a British male citizen of good standing with five generations of pureblood ancestors on both sides, or with both sides totaling ten generations of purity with one being no less than generations removed. If the citizen is female, the total count of pure generations must be fourteen with a single side being no less than five generations of purity. As a result of the declining pool of suitable candidates, many purebloods who meet the requirements take upon themselves multiple offices, with the current record held by Lord Lucius Malfoy at five simultaneously. While most of the positions are indeed powerless, a majority wield traditional influence and a few, such as the positions of governor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, indeed have a great deal of power and responsibility._

_Within the past few decades, the question of blood purity became a central issue in society. Elite purebloods – differentiated from mere purebloods by a greater count of pure generations – realized as a group after the Fall of Grindelwald – and the relaxing of many prejudices against muggles and muggleborn on account of the declining overall population of the magical - that their numbers were in a seeming freefall. Most were quite alarmed, while others, most notably the Weasleys and Prewetts, embraced the new changes and welcomed muggleborns with cautiously open arms. Those Elite who despised the relaxing of attitudes, led by the Malfoy progenitors, viewed their own heritage as rife with achievement and necessitating great pride in it. This started a counter-cultural movement as many Elite chose to revert back to many ancient traditions and customs, including dress, and renewed the emphasis on proper forms of address and manners. There are some families, however, that keep to the old customs but do not share the same prejudices, most notably the Dumbledore line, nonetheless, the most strict revisionists consider the disregarding of the reestablished practices towards themselves a dire offense._

_The offending of a minor member of an Elite family can often be forgiven, such as a distant relative to the patriarch, except under special circumstances in which said paterfamilias has formally taken the relative or friend into his protection. Any offense against a protected person or the head himself, however, can be construed as a calculated insult and often retributive actions are taken as a result. Luckily, there are few Elite heads who insist on the following of the most stringent of customs and the identification of the patriarchs is simple._

_When greeting an Elite head, it is considered offensive to speak first. Instead, it is the decision of the head whether or not to acknowledge the greeter, who makes his presence known by a removal of the hat and a slight bow depending on the relationship between the two. A nod of the head is often sufficient acknowledgement from the Elite to encourage further conversation. It is recommended, however, that a stranger not seek to engage any paterfamilias which is easy enough to do when one knows the identifying features. The most obvious indication of the Elite heads is the length of hair, as traditionally he wears it loose and allows it to grow often past his shoulders or even longer… _

Hermione gasped. That blonde man in the Leaky Cauldron, the description of an Elite pureblood matched him completely. What if she had deeply offended him? It sounded as if he likely had a great deal of power and influence. She flipped to see if there was a table of contents in the book, but it seemed to her that the Wizarding world was not on par with the muggle world in terms of organization. And dry, stuffy reading. She quickly paged through the book, looking at chapter titles.

_Elite: The Dumbledores_

That looked promising. At least it was on the subject she wanted. If she had truly offended a venerable personage, then she at least wanted to know who it was. Hermione skimmed the description of the Dumbledore family and noted that the current head, an Albus Dumbledore, was the headmaster at Hogwarts. She continued to thumb through the book.

_Elite: The Weasleys_

_Elite: The Flitwicks (disputed)_

_Elite: The Parkinsons_

_Elite: The Blacks_

_Elite: The Potters (until recently)_

_Elite: The Malfoys_

This description caught her eye.

_Elite: The Malfoys_

_Descended from Malfoi, descended from Malte_

_Associated with power and wealth, the House of Malfoy prides itself on being arguable the most visible and strict adherents to the Elite pureblood customs of old. Originating from Scandinavia, more specifically modern Norway, in 911 the last remaining member of the family, Hrafn Malte, fought with Rollo in Gaul, modern France, and was ceded a large territory when the muggle King Charles the Simple granted Normandy to the invaders. In 1065, the head of the Malte House, angered French wizarding society when he openly threw his support behind blood purist and Dark Lord Du Sang. When Du Sang was defeated in 1066, Malte joined the wizarding contingent of the Norman Invasion of England – for the wizards at that time took advantage of the fact that the Saxon wizards would be highly distracted by the muggle war – largely to escape the incensed French purebloods. It is written that the French Wizard King, upon hearing of Malte's deception, lamented, "It is better to have ten Dark Lords in front than a single ally of bad faith[mal foi] in the rearguard." When Malte received word of the King's remarks, it is reported that he laughed and took the name Mal foi, or Malfoi, as a badge of honor. _

_When muggle William, Duke of Normandy, conquered Saxon England, Malfoi was one of the advisers in the invasion of the Saxon wizards and was highly rewarded with a wealth of land. Over time, the Norman-French language and Saxon Old English influenced one another, and Malfoi became Anglecanized into Malfoy._

Hermione closed the book as she considered the new information. A knot in the pit of her stomach formed as she realized that the blonde man in the Leaky Cauldron was likely the head of the Malfoy family. Not only a pureblood, but an Elite, and she had not only insulted him by not following customs, but she offered him her name! She groaned and shoved her face into her pillow as she realized that there was probably now a prejudiced Elite with a vendetta against her. There was no way to fix it, she decided, but could only do her best so it wouldn't happen again.

After a quick breakfast, Hermione made her way outside to sit underneath her favorite tree with her new book.

* * *

After many years of marriage to Narcissa, Lucius could tell when she wanted to broach a difficult subject. It was a pinched look combined with lines around her pursed lips, and as he idly flipped through the Daily Prophet, he mused that one day her face might freeze in that expression as she seemed to be using it more often lately. He nodded in approval to his son Draco as the boy painstakingly cut up his sausage by himself. Draco sat up even straighter in his chair and continued with a bright smile.

"Lucius." He paused, his cup of tea halfway to his lips. He resumed drinking leisurely and carefully patted his mouth with a pristine napkin before he answered with a drawl of, "Narcissa."

"Lucius, I must discuss the matter of Draco's acquaintances."

"Of whom do you speak?" he responded, seemingly bored.

"All of them. I know there are few children with the appropriate bloodline, but surely he can do better than that simpering Parkinson girl and those dullards Crabbe and Goyle."

Draco looked up from his plate in disgust. "Crabbe and Goyle are boring. I don't like them, and Pansy is such a girl."

"Draco, you are not involved in this conversation," Lucius rebuked. Draco flushed and morosely continued to eat. "Narcissa, it is good for him to cultivate his followers at such an age. He is Malfoy, and I will not have him tainted with the wrong sort before it is necessary he be exposed. However, perhaps you have a point. I suppose the Zabini boy is the next most appropriate."

"No! You know I don't trust that woman. She is on her fifth husband, the past four dying under mysterious conditions."

"Yet her lineage is pure, as was the father of the boy."

"A foreign wizard, Lucius, nearly as inadequate as one of the insufferable Weasels, pureblood but entirely unsuitable. No, I will not have it!"

"You want Draco to increase his circle yet you wish to include such undesirables? My, my, Narcissa." He shook his head mournfully. He felt a thrill of triumph over besting her once again in their verbal skirmishes, yet it was followed closely by a pervasive fatigue. These domestic fencings were commonplace and he felt an urge to sigh. Instead, he let a faint smile play on his lips while Narcissa soured.

Lucius felt an uncharacteristic desire to flee the oppressive atmosphere. Theirs was a marriage of convenience and he had long tired of her presence and pretensions, though usually he took pleasure in provoking his wife. Today, however, he could not discard the notion of visiting his newest acquisition, the mudblood. Feeling the weight of his son's anxious glances and Narcissa's pointed glares, he made a quick decision.

"I have business today," he announced as he strode out of the room, ignoring her with haughty disdain the way only a Malfoy could, and accompanied by the growing feeling that he was in a trap of his own making.

* * *

An old crone stared out the window of her small apartment, watching her rubbish bins. For days, her bins had been knocked over by an animal, emptying it and strewing the trash in a most unsightly manner.

"Likely those nasty little children," she liked to tell anyone who feigned interest, or rather anyone she encountered, "but I'll catch them one of these days."

She sat at the window with a cuppa in her hands surrounded by her cats as she guarded her bins. Then, she blinked. A blonde in flowing black cloths appeared where none should have been, right out of thin air.

"Aliens! I told you, Mr. Fluffles, it's a government conspiracy," she whispered savagely as she turned to a feline companion. The crone turned back to berate the rubbish scavenger, but he was gone as if he had never existed.

She looked in the alley and at her bins, then at her cuppa, then back again. She shuffled over to the sink to pour it out, saying, "You were right, Mr. Fluffles, no more, that brew doesn't agree with me."

* * *

Lucius apparated to the alley near Granger's house and rapped himself over the head with the Disillusionment charm as soon as he landed. He sneered at the muggle-ness of the area, more obvious in the daylight. The uniform houses, prudishly manicured lawns, all of them offended his lofty sensibilities. He resisted an urge to kick over the rubbish bins, instead settling for elegantly sweeping past them towards his destination.

Lucius spotted the girl outside the house as she read under the spreading leaves of an old tree. His mouth tightened in displeasure when he noticed the title of the book displayed for all of the neighborhood to see. While not the most overtly magical, it was bound to raise a few eyebrows from meddling muggles. The thought that it likely had been his prerogative to charm the cover crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. The chit should have known better than to remove it from her room, let alone the residence itself.

Taking out his wand to change his appearance to something more nondescript and then to reveal himself, he stopped as he noticed two boys approaching the oblivious girl. The taller of the two announced their presences as he ripped the book from her hands and the second pushed her to the ground, obviously haranguing the girl.

Lucius finished the temporary appearance charm; his golden hair turned a dark brown and his sharp features softened. He wanted to see the actions of his new interest, so he waited before revealing himself.

Hermione, initially confused by the sudden onslaught, shot to her feet and demanded the book back. The boys laughed and the holder of the text slowly and callously ripped out pages, taunting her. In defense of the precious tome, she launched herself at him, fists awkwardly but intently pummeling him. Lucius heard his startled yelp from his position several houses down, and smirked. Though she resorted to undesirable muggle methods, she used the tools available to her in an outright Gryffindor roar of defiance. Then again, he mused, even snakes struck back when cornered.

Leaving the issue of her future Sorting for later perusing, Lucius dropped the disillusionment charm and gracefully strode towards the quarreling trio. As he neared them, he began to distinguish the shrill voice of Granger as she promised swift death to the foolhardy wankers for ruining her book.

She must have seen movement out of the corner of her eye, for as he drew near, she quickly ceased her death threats and swinging fists and self-consciously straightened her shirt and jeans.

The boys did not see his approach, their attentions and taunts still on the girl. One of them boldly stepped forward and shoved her to the ground in retribution for the rapidly growing bruise on his eye.

At the look in her outraged eyes, Lucius acted swiftly. He grabbed both boys by the back of their necks, careful to hit the sensitive pressure points.

"Hey!" they shouted, twisting in pain.

He turned them to look him in the face. Lucius raised his voice to cut off the hastily accusing voices as they blamed the girl for provoking them, for starting the fight, for their poor marks in school, and for all the ills of the free world.

"Do not attempt to persuade me that my eyes lie, boys. I am well aware of who began this altercation." He shook them roughly when they protested. The fools did not know when to shut up. "I see why you are jealous of this girl, for it is obvious she possesses more intelligence than the both of you combined. Now," he said as he gripped an arm in a crushing grasp, "you will apologize to her, thank me for showing you the error of your ways, and go home. Never touch her, talk to her, or even think of her, else you will deal with me. Again."

He released them harshly and the two boys ran off, not looking back. They didn't dare stay in his presence any longer. In a few days, they would skulk back to Granger's house to sullenly apologize, or perhaps leave a note for her to find. They did not want to know the consequences of disobeying the tall man with the cold eyes and cutting voice.

Hermione looked at the man, her eyes wide with surprise. "Thank you so much, sir," she said earnestly, though looking at her torn gift with sadness.

Lucius ignored her, but picked up the book and the torn pages. Turning his back to the nearest house, he replaced the pages in their rightful spots and withdrew his wand, carefully drawing it along the rips and tears, mending them.

"Was it you?" he heard her ask excitedly. Finished, he tapped the book one last time with his and, placing a Notice-Me-Not charm on it, shoved it in her direction.

"You should have known better, girl, than to take this outside where dirty eyes can see it," he said tersely.

Hermione, struck by the coldness of her rescuer, wilted as she rubbed her dirty hands on her jeans before accepting the book. She had met the nice man with magic, the one who had gone out of his way to help her learn about her new world, but she could only manage to irritate him. Clutching the book to herself, she nodded and apologized in a small voice, thanking him again for fixing it.

He eyed her. Lucius had approved of her avid defense of the tome. Knowledge was power, and book-learning was a powerful tool. It boded well that she protected her book, her slip in bringing it outside notwithstanding, and he was sure that he had curtailed that activity of hers.

Lucius nodded shortly to the girl. Abruptly, he turned and strode back towards the dim alley to apparate back home, wondering if he was wasting his time with the small mudblood.


	3. Naming and Communications

Chapter Three: Naming and Communications

Lucius Malfoy poured himself a small glass of elf-made wine as he sat in his well-worn chair. He resisted the urge to run his fingers through his hair, though he did check to ensure that the straightening and fixing charms were still in place.

His thoughts fled back to the past, to the day after their meeting when she quarreled with the muggle boys. He had noted at the time how she so easily played the innocent. Of course, her precious tome was stolen and desecrated, but she did exacerbate the altercation into a physical fight, yet as soon as she saw an approaching adult, she stopped immediately and let the fool boy shove her to the ground.

How distinctly Slytherin of her. He had approved then even as he approved now. He remembered how it had been his hope that she would overcome her Gryffindorish tendencies. He chuckled and sipped his wine. It would be as likely as the goblins handing out free gold, or the Chudley Cannons having a winning season, or those blasted Weasleys actually obeying the dictates of their blood. Not that, he grimaced slightly, he himself had not violated the spirit of the customs if not the law. Yet.

Still, even now he disliked to admit to himself how difficult it had been to feign nonchalance that first night, waiting for night to fall. The actions of the day had both pleased and worried him. The girl's response would determine if his investment was worth the time and energy. He realized now that he had been a fool, for there was something that drew him towards the girl. Something undefined and unmeasurable, yet mesmerizing, felt after that first midnight foray, and ensorcelled by it after the first exchange of letters. After that, he now realized with faint chagrin, he was well and truly trapped, thoroughly gone.

It had taken him many years, many sleepless nights and restless wanderings, to realize the depth of her draw upon him.

He didn't mind, not anymore.

* * *

Lucius traveled the same path that night to Granger's house, appearing in the alley a few houses away. He spared no glance for the utter muggle-ness this time, but swept away and strode quickly to his destination. He told himself that it was because he despised being in a locale so beneath him, that his eagerness was inspired by disgust and the desire to complete his business and return to a proper, dignified locale.

As he had the night before, Lucius carefully cast a Notice-Me-Not charm and Invisibility spell on himself before opening the door and silently gliding inside and up the stairs to the girl's room. Eyes well-adjusted to the darkness and aided by the slight moonlight, he easily spotted the white paper on her desk.

He ignored his heart, beating loud enough that he was sure the girl, had she been awake, would be capable of hearing it. His breaths wanted to come more rapidly, but aided by years of self-discipline, he schooled his body into behaving. He did not know why he felt a sense of impending importance; it was just a silly letter from an unimportant slip of a girl, no matter her potential.

Lucius carefully reached for the paper, eyeing the sleeping figure on the bed. He skimmed the letter quickly, than reread it more slowly, eyes narrowing. He felt a surge of an unknown emotion wash over his body and his fingers tightened on the dirty muggle paper as he felt his iron-control slipping. At a slight movement out of the corner of his eye, Lucius turned on his heel and apparated, leaving the dim room and the stirring child.

He appeared in his office, no less overcome with emotion. Furious, he balled the paper up and launched it at a corner before pacing rapidly. He was aware that he was out of control, which further irritated him – Malfoys never lose their level-heads – and put him even more out of sorts.

With the speed of a striking cobra, he spun and whipped out his wand, slashing it violently at an elegant vase on a stand in the corner of the room. It shattered and exploded, razor-sharp splinters flying. He winced as he felt a few slice his face and a cool liquid begin to trickle down. Rooted to the ground and breathing deeply, Lucius lifted a hand and wiped the blood off of his cheek.

The bright red gleaming against his pale skin both grounded and stirred him. Malfoys were not supposed to bleed, either, yet the obvious contradiction between traditional beliefs of superiority warred against the stark reality of the blood. His blood.

The sight of it reminded him that he, too, was only human, prone to missteps and errors in judgment. If he considered the matter honestly and logically, what did he expect out of the girl? Feet of parchment displaying a truly Slytherin personality including but not limited to a detailed dissection of her benefactor's possible identity?

Lucius sighed and sat heavily in his chair. He conjured a small mirror, carefully extracting the splinters from his cheek. His expectations had been inappropriately high, he saw that now. He had anticipated something, he wasn't sure what exactly, and the disappointment when that something was absent had surprised him.

The pieces removed and the cuts expertly healed, he chuckled wryly. He had been due for exploding another useless priceless heirloom, anyway. At least this one was in his office and not in a public room, so Narcissa would not bitch about it.

Lucius wordlessly summoned the scrunched up paper, gently smoothing it out on his desk. He reread it slowly and noted the neat printing. While certainly not as advanced as he had foolishly expected – not foolishly, Weasleys were foolish, Potters were foolish, Malfoys always acted logically even if the logic was inexplicable to outsiders – it was at least on par with the short essays Draco wrote for his tutors, and his son received expert guidance.

_Dear Sir,_

_Thank you for leaving me the book and for saving it from those evil boys. I am sorry that I was not thinking when I took it from my room. I am reading the book and it is very interesting. I figured out that the man with light hair in the Leaky Cauldron was Lord Malfoy. Do you think he will remember me and be mean later? If you know him, please tell him that I am very sorry._

_What is your name?_

_Hermione Granger_

He decided to continue the charade. The chit would grow and mature as all children inevitably do, and with his guidance, he felt confident that he could mold her to his will. She would be an excellent addition to his retinue and he could already imagine the look on that fool Dumbledore's face when he was revealed that he had a mudblood for a champion. Lucius Malfoy! Beloved by all, even those he hates!

A smirk on his lips, Lucius pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill to compose his own response.

_Dear Miss Hermione Granger,_

_You may refer to me as Munin…_

He folded the parchment and placed it in a deep pocket in his over-robe to be delivered the following night. He hesitated over her letter to him. If it were found, there would be many questions and concerns, but he could not bring himself to destroy it. It could be useful later.

Lucius cast a preserving charm on the flimsy and wrinkled paper and placed it in a secret compartment in his desk, which had a permanent notice-me-not enchantment directed towards everyone but himself. It would sit in this location for months at a time, occasionally retrieved to compare writing and personality progress, until it was nearly forgotten under further years' worth of correspondence.

* * *

It was this letter that Lucius pulled out from his desk, tapping the appropriate spots on the side of the drawer to pop out the secret compartment. It was filled to the brim with her letters and smelled pleasingly of old parchment with the faintest touch of her particular scent. He closed his eyes, savoring the mixture of old tomes, clean soap, and her own indescribable scent that had built up over the years, now concentrated in the small space and which spilled out whenever he opened it.

He fully acknowledged to himself that he was damned.

Lucius, feeling nostalgic, reread the letter, then dug through the pile again, searching for the first letter that made him genuinely proud, and which had given him great hopes for his future plans.

Hermione Granger was the happiest girl on the planet. Of this, she was positive. Sure, the other children in school were too stupid to want to be her friend, but she didn't need them anyway. None of them had a drop of magic in their veins. None of them had a secret magical mentor. None of them had Munin.

It was just over two years since he had contacted her after her excursion into the Leaky Cauldron. In those two years, they had rarely missed a day of contact and like clockwork, or magic, her letters disappeared over night and his appeared on her desk the next morning. Sometimes she attempted to stay up late to catch him in the act, but every time, even when she sat at her desk and read to stay awake, she found herself in bed underneath the covers.

Hermione couldn't complain, not when she had such a devoted and caring magical mentor who coached her about the wizarding world and gave her fascinating texts to read, who gave her advice about the neighborhood bullies which once consisted of her giving them a sheet of incorrect answers on an upcoming exam. He tutored her in manipulation, through writing and speaking, and helped her gain control over her accidental magic. The last time the bullies came after her, she used his lessons to cause them pain, as she had the first time. They hadn't dared come near her after that.

On her eighth birthday, he had gifted her with another thick text, called _Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_. Although she didn't understand it very well then, she recently reread it and found it fascinating. He had also given her a large stuffed snake, which she often hugged to herself while she read, even though her parents admonished her about leaving behind childish toys. Even though he gifted her captivating educational tomes on her ninth and tenth birthdays, the snake was her favorite.

She named it Munin so that whenever she hugged it, she could pretend she was hugging her best friend.

Hermione sighed in happiness under her warm covers as she stretched languorously. She kept one arm wrapped firmly around Munin as she reached with the other to pick up the daily letter. She curled on her side, reading by the soft morning sun shining through the window.

She frowned and read through it again, then again. She was confused, never had a letter from her beloved mentor caused such consternation. He prodded her sometimes, made her think and evaluate herself and her principles, but this was a thinly veiled scornful attack on her heritage, and by extension, herself.

Her eyes alit on the most troubling paragraph, the last one…

…_Hermione, you should count yourself very lucky, not only for the priceless gift of having been born magical and thus the opportunity to rise about your meager forebears, but also for the guidance of a magical mentor, especially one with my impressive knowledge. No other muggle-borns receive such an opportunity, and so never fully integrate into the Wizarding World. They stand with one foot in each world, belonging in neither. You do not seem to properly appreciate your inherent magical nature. Embrace your muggle heritage if that is your decision, but know that they are nasty and brutish – you have seen this yourself. Know, however, that you can only choose one, not both worlds. Read the muggle newspapers, see your __wonderful__ heritage._

Her eyes began to glisten with tears. Why had he responded like that?

Hermione threw the letter from her bed and sat up, hugging her snake. She bit her lip as she tried to figure out what had brought their warm exchange to this unveiled scorn, this hatred.

It had started innocently enough, she supposed. Munin was lecturing her about modern wizarding achievements, exciting new spells, the thriving economy, and years of peace, "_for wizards are naturally kind and peace-loving," _he had written. He had also mentioned that the prosperity was through no small assistance by himself and his ancestors. Hermione had swelled with pride for her mentor, for she knew how important it was to have ancestors to admire and emulate.

She wrote back to him with a light heart, pages full of descriptions of new muggle advances – _"scientists are working on cloning, that's making an exact identical clone of an animal," "there's this new technology called computers that connects people and people can use them to write faster than a typewriter or pens, and my school might be getting one," "they are finally about to tear down the Berlin Wall and unify Germany." _She was eager to demonstrate to her benefactor that she and her heritage was also advancing, that she was worthy.

Hermione did not expect to receive such scathing phrases as, _"If I wanted another animal, an exact copy, I'd transfigure it!" _and _"I'm glad for the knowledge of this computer, in case I ever forget the Dictation charm!"_

Coming from a person who had always shown her patience and kindness, the person she relied on most, Hermione was struck to her core.

They never had any disagreements, and the thought of being estranged from her mentor made her sick to her stomach. She checked the clock; it was nearly time for her mother to come in to wake her up, so she quickly made up her mind.

When Mrs. Granger entered, Hermione played sick. Distraught, her appearance was awful, pale and sweaty, and she easily fooled her mother into letting her stay home from school.

Her parents gone, Hermione worked out a plan of action.

She could hardly refute that muggles were frequently quite horrid to each other, she admitted that to herself freely. The recent wars in the past century alone were irrefutable, but weren't wizards just as prone to evil? In all of the texts Munin had given her about wizard history, there were plenty of wars where a single charismatic leader wreaked chaos and havoc.

Thankful for her thorough notes on the interesting bits of the texts, Hermione skimmed through them. Wizards were just like muggles, she decided, when it came to character. Both had their bad eggs and their good sorts. She heaved a sigh of satisfaction. She enjoyed research; it was fascinating to know that the needed facts were within reach if only she knew what and where to look for them.

Notes and a dictionary by her arm for easy reference and stuffed Munin in her lap for reassurance, Hermione sat at her desk and began to write.

_Munin, _

_Never have you been so harsh to me, my friend. You have never been less than thoughtful and kind and patient with me, and the anger and scorn in your last letter was horrid. _

_I could just ignore your words and forget that they were written, but I can't. I can't let this fester between us. You have been my constant and loyal friend for over two years. I trust you completely and have told you everything about me, but I hardly know you. I only know your penname, not your real name. _

_None of that matters, so long as you trust our friendship and give me enough respect that you read my response to your dreadful claims._

_You say that muggles are vile and that nothing of theirs can ever be or accomplish anything worthwhile._

_Munin, what am I, if not a product of muggles? Does that mean all of your patience and tutoring of me and my hard work is for nothing? That because of my heritage, I am doomed to a life of mediocrity and brutishness? I can't believe that._

_You say that muggles are vile, that they have done horrible things. _

_What about the numerous Dark Lords in the wizarding past, or did you conveniently forget them? Or the muggle-baiting that is still popular, or the persecution of all non-humans? Wizards kill and steal just like muggles do, except that it is easier. It's easier to lie and cheat, and more devastating because we have magic._

_You say that muggles are worthless?_

_Muggles are the same as wizards, but without the very useful tool of magic. Any muggle accomplishment is twice as impressive because it is done without magic._

_Munin, please do not think that I am ungrateful for my magic or for you. That is very untrue. I couldn't be happier that I am a witch and will go to Hogwarts next year, and I wouldn't give you up for anything in the world. But you just have to remember that muggles have to do more with less._

_Just think about it, dear Munin. Open your eyes and your generous heart; I know you have one because of how you have helped and taught me. Please do not just discard the muggles, or at least do not think such evil things of them. They are just people, trying to live their lives as are wizards._

_Hermione_

Finished, she folded up the long letter and laid it on her desk. She crawled into bed, tired but hopeful that she could heal the rift between her and Munin, clutched her stuffed snake tightly to her chest.

* * *

In the morning, she awoke with a start and jumped to her desk, only to find only her original letter, unmoved. Hermione sank into her chair, hugging Munin to her and crying into his soft fabric, terrified that her best friend had left her forever.

Somehow, Hermione had dragged herself to school, which was more tedious than usual. The world seemed dull and grey, and the schoolwork boring and unimportant. All she wanted to do was to go back home, crawl into bed, and pretend that the past few days had never happened.

The letter was still there when she arrived home, untouched. Although Munin had never arrived during school hours, she still had held a slight hope that he would come. Her hopes crushed, Hermione begged off dinner with her parents and went to bed early. Sniffing back her tears, she hugged Munin to herself and turned away from the glaring letter still resting on her desk.

Several hours later, a soft pop echoed in the small room. A dark figure appeared from nowhere and a pale hand reached out from folds of cloth to grasp the letter and place it in a deep pocket.

Turning on his heel, the figure sent a fleeting look towards the girl on the bed, sprawled out and shifting uneasily. The same hand extended cautiously, hovering over the dry tear tracks on the girl's cheeks. It stopped and clenched into a fist as the figure froze in hesitation and indecision. With a barely audible growl, the hand retracted and the man gathered himself hastily. This time the crack was louder, waking up the girl on the bed from her troubled slumber.

Hermione gasped and sat up quickly as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She glanced around the room to find what had awoken her when she caught a familiar scent in the air. It was slightly musky, like old seasoned wood combined with a touch of expensive alcohol, like the brandy her father sometimes drank. It was the same scent that was on the letters!

Hermione leapt from her bed and saw that the letter was gone. She laughed in joy, hugging her snake to her and dancing wildly in elation. She went to sleep with a lighter heart.

Munin had not left her, after all, but had returned to her. Now it remained to be seen whether he was offended by her letter, but at least he gave her a chance.

The world, even in the darkness of her room, seemed to glow and come alive.


	4. Growing and Shopping

Chapter Four: Growing and Shopping

Lucius remembered reading her letter. He remembered feeling infuriated and proud, confident and insecure. He remembered disliking the confusion that had raged inside of him, but also remembered the glow of warmth and pleasure that accompanied the assurance that his investment of time and energy would eventually pay off in the future.

Hermione had not responded as an angry lioness by protecting her cherished ideals with savage bluntness and by scornfully rejecting those that fell outside of her consideration, but rather had cajoled and pleaded with him to consider the other side. It was rather Slytherin-esque, he recalled with pride, for she had turned his connection with her against himself, gambling that he would not reject her viewpoint and thus herself out of hand. Although he did not want to admit it at that time, it had worked, at least enough that he had decided to not bring up the subject again.

Her response was remarkably grown up and mature for her age, and even as he now reread it, some many years past, Lucius had to resist agreeing with her calm claims even as he relished the sentences stroking his ego.

Smiling faintly, Lucius carefully replaced the letter in the compartment, feeling the ward rise as it softly clicked shut. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, resisting the childish urge to drum his fingers on the wood desk. Malfoys waited on no one, he remembered from his lessons in his childhood long ago, and lessons that he himself taught his son. Malfoys make others wait for them. Malfoys are always in charge and in command.

How ironic that now the scion of the centuries-old Malfoy line could only wait. His plans were gone, some failed and some accomplished, but all defenestrated, utterly impotent now. Only one last hope remained, and so he waited.

Lucius sighed again. He clasped his fingers together and leaned them on the desk, and his eye caught on the glimpse of silver peaking from his robe sleeve.

Eyes sad, he pulled back his right sleeve to reveal a silver bracelet, intricately designed, and linked with a hundred tiny links. He pulled back his other sleeve and revealed another, identical in every way. He thumbed that one softly, almost lovingly, certainly obsessively.

Malfoys do not feel. Malfoys are above emotion, removed from the morass of suffocating quicksand that drags one down to that of the basest denizen of society. Passion makes one lose one's calm reason and logic, and losing control bequeaths power to the unworthy, for not one person is worthy of controlling a Malfoy.

Lucius Malfoy laughed bitterly, certain that his illustrious and stoic ancestors would be glaring down at him from their portraits had he not removed them from his office long ago.

As the year moved on, the relationship between Hermione and Munin was repaired swiftly. The morning after her ardent plea, a letter from him arrived. It did not mention their terrible disagreement, but accompanying the letter was a small stack of books. Primers, the letter read, for her upcoming classes at Hogwarts, a mere year away. Hermione accepted them as his way of apologizing.

In them were basic topics such as wand safety and handling, which prompted Hermione to secrete away a small, straight stick found outside, using it to practice her grip and wrist movements. Also in the stack was a text on ingredients used in basic potions. Hermione devoured this one, for it was enough like cooking that she could visualize and understand it easily.

Hermione knew that when she arrived at Hogwarts, she would be at a significant disadvantage to her pureblood peers. They lived and breathed the magical world, while she lived for the small tastes and glimpses provided by Munin. His stern edict against travelling alone into Diagon Alley held against her cajoling and pleas that he personally escort her.

He adamantly refused, claiming that he was unable to conduct her about the Alley, and that it would be extremely dangerous for her to go alone without a wizard to protect her. _There are many Dark places in the world, even in the Light_, he wrote to her. _I will not risk you there alone, and there shall be no quarrel_ _out of you, my Hermione._

Reluctantly, Hermione agreed, but fervently awaited the letter that would signify her entrance into the world she hungered for, day and night.

Her Hogwarts acceptance letter.

Eleven-year-old Hermione Granger sat on the edge of the couch in the Granger residence's living room. She eagerly listened to the light Scottish brogue spoken by the thin, stern woman, whose no-nonsense approach was softened by the obvious excitement and joy of the young girl. Her parents sat close together, dumbfounded by the events of the past hour.

It was over two months before she would turn twelve. Hermione had awoken that July morning to her customary letter from Munin, though it was shorter than usual. It read simply that he expected great things from her and that she must continue to demonstrate her worthiness and improve her abilities. Confused, she had just placed it with the other letters from him in her clothes drawer, when she heard a panicked shout from downstairs.

"Mum! Are you alright?" she called down as she started to walk down for breakfast. She caught just a few words, including "owl" and "crazy," and started to run, taking the steps two at a time, excitement building inside her chest like a rising tide.

Hermione skidded into the kitchen to see her father swatting at an owl with a rolled up newspaper, her mum cowering behind her father for protection. The owl screeched at the poor reception, and seeing Hermione, veered towards her. Surprised, she lifted her arm and the owl gently landed on it, taking care not to crush her with his strong talons. She blinked at the surprising weight and ignored her flabbergasted parents, but gently untied the letter on his leg.

Mission discharged, the owl swiveled his head around to glare at the adults. He hissed at them, ruffled his feathers, and took off again through the open window.

"Hermione, are you alright? Did it scratch you?" her dad asked worriedly, grabbing her arm and checking it over for cuts.

"No, Dad, I'm fine, really," Hermione said absently, snatching her arm from his grasp. She rubbed the strange paper, recognizing it as the same material used by Munin, and turned over the letter. She felt her breath catch in her chest, and her lungs refused to refill.

_Ms. H. Granger_

_Smallest Second-Floor Bedroom_

_#14 Priory St._

_Hertford, Hertfordshire_

_Dear Ms. Granger,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely, _

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Hermione lowered the letter, her hands shaking. Finally, her acceptance letter to Hogwarts! Even despite the protests of Munin, she had still held some reservations about her ability to be accepted into Hogwarts. It had not seemed like it could happen to her, that she could be so fortunate.

Her father gently extricated the letter from her hands and read it quickly, furrowing his brow. Her mum, recovered from the owl invasion, read it behind his shoulder.

"What tomfoolery is this?" he muttered, and Mrs. Granger could only shrug. "Must be those rotten Fenwick boys playing a prank. What nonsense."

Hermione looked in the envelope that remained and pulled out another piece of parchment, this one detailing the necessary items. She swallowed nervously. Her parents, predictably, were reacting with skepticism and annoyance. She had to somehow convince them that it was real, not a prank.

She took a deep breath. "Mum, Dad," she started slowly, "there's something I have to tell you-"

All three jumped at the loud knocking at the door. Mr. Granger strode to it and peered quizzically through the peephole. A tall, thin woman in dark green robes stood on the doorstep, her old face lined with many wrinkles, yet when she knocked again on the door, it was with the vigor of a much younger woman. Mr. Granger opened the door mid-strike. "Excuse me, ma'am, but we do not want to buy anything."

The woman arched a slender eyebrow. "Who asked you to, Mr. Granger?" she asked pointedly, lowering her hand gracefully. She glanced around, quickly taking in her surroundings. "Ah, Miss Granger, I see that I am a few minutes late. You already have your letter. May I come in?" she directed the last to Mr. Granger, who stood in the doorway, mouth agape. He stepped to one side, issuing a muttered apology.

Hermione glanced at the letter held in her mum's hand. "Professor McGonagall?" she asked the oddly-dressed woman.

Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall's stern eyes softened slightly. "That I am, Miss Granger. We need to have a talk; I am certain you have many questions for me."

She swept out of the hallway and into the living room. Hermione followed dutifully in her wake, while her parents, still dumbfounded by the owl, parchment, and the strange, imposing woman, trailed behind.

McGonagall seated herself in the armchair. She took out her wand from her sleeve and flourished it, conjuring up a tea set. By the time that the Grangers arrived and seated themselves, she had an entire tea service on the low table between them as well as cups filled with steaming tea.

The adult Grangers stared. Hermione grinned and took a cup, sipping slightly as McGonagall began explaining to her parents about their daughter's wonderful gift.

The Grangers at first had rejected the idea of magic, being practical, upstanding and no-nonsense individuals, but were unable to deny that the levitation of their television set and subsequent transfiguration of it into a beautiful lioness who yawned and bared her sharp teeth. Hermione particularly loved that part, for she was able to stroke its thick fur before the Professor turned it back into the television set. "No harm done," McGonagall assured them, "it still works perfectly fine."

Doubts erased, the Grangers admitted that strange things indeed did happen around their daughter, and though thoroughly bemused, were proud that their child had a special gift.

"Though it's not quite the same as an acceptance to Oxford, is it?" admitted the chagrined Mrs. Granger. "We can hardly tell Aunt Nelly about this, the poor dear would lose the last of her mind."

"Well, Miss Granger," the professor said as she stood and briskly brushed away crumbs fallen on her dark robes, "it is past time for us to be off."

"Off? Where are you going?" Mr. Granger asked, standing up as well. "We have only just met you, Professor McGonagall, so you will forgive me if I am uneasy about your taking my daughter anywhere alone."

"I do understand your concerns, Mr. Granger," McGonagall replied as Hermione muttered, "Daaad" in annoyance. "The world is truly a dangerous place, but where we go, only she can follow at the moment. I cannot Side-Apparate with more than just one, and London is too far away to use muggle transportation and arrive there with enough time to buy everything."

Hermione tugged at his shirt sleeve. "Really, Dad, I'll be fine," she pleaded, "just let me go with the professor. I know that she is genuine; I've talked with her already."

"You have? You already knew?" He asked, shocked. "Why didn't you tell us anything? " He frowned as a thought occurred to him. "Do you mean to tell me that you had an extended conversation with a stranger? Have we taught you nothing?"

Hermione's cheeks burned and she studiously attempted to not look at Professor McGonagall, who she was sure was quite surprised to hear of a meeting which had never taken place. Still, what had Munin said about making up lies? _Never stray far from the truth, for the best lies have an element of truth to them. Not only are they more believable, but they are easier to remember. Most lies fail because of the deliverance of the tale or when probed deeply, the liar confuses his own facts, not because of the actual story itself._

She looked up innocently at her father. "It was a while ago, Dad, Professor McGonagall saw me fighting with some neighborhood bullies. I used accidental magic, and she noticed and made them leave and talked with me for a bit."

"Well, why didn't you tell us?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "Would you have believed me?" she asked as she grinned.

He grimaced. "Probably not," he admitted.

"I am pleased that we have this settled," McGonagall cut in. "It is time for us to take our leave. Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I shall return your daughter in a few hours."

"Wait, how is she going to pay for everything?" Mrs. Granger asked. "We are well enough off to be able to afford school supplies."

McGonagall shook her head. "There is no need to worry about that; I will pay for her expenses from a Hogwarts account and send the bill by owl. Now, come along, Miss Granger," she continued with a touch of impatience.

Hermione gave each parent a long hug goodbye; her dad needed one last reassurance before he reluctantly let her go, albeit with a fifty pound note secured in her pocket, for "the extra books you will be unable to live without," he teased. She grinned in delight, for her father knew her quite well indeed, then followed in the wake of her formidable professor, who was already out the door and waiting. McGonagall gave her a hard look as she led the way to the side alley by the house.

"How was our conversation, Miss Granger?" she asked pointedly.

Hermione reddened again, but met her eyes resolutely, "It was the only way to get out of there in any reasonable amount of time," she replied. "Dad is… overprotective. I managed to stumble my way into Diagon Alley a few years ago. Once inside, I followed an old man through the brick wall and bought some books. I already knew about Hogwarts."

"But you haven't told your parents," McGonagall pointed out. Hermione shook her head. "I can't say that I approve of your methods, Miss Granger, because honesty is paramount to virtue, however," she gave a sly wink as they reached the alley, "I must say that the meeting with your parents was the shortest I have ever conducted. Normally, I have a horrible time convincing parents to let their darlings go. Now, take my arm."

Hermione gingerly grasped the offered arm as the professor took a deep breath. All of a sudden, she wished that she had as well, for all of the air squeezed out of her as her feet left the ground. Her insides hurt and she felt as if she were squished into a narrow tube, constricting her breathing.

As quickly as it started, it stopped, and she fell to the ground, bright lights dancing around the edges of her eyesight. Blinking, she stood up carefully, ignoring the impulse to clutch her ribs.

"Here we have it, Miss Granger," McGonagall uttered in satisfaction, "the entrance to Diagon Alley."

They stood in front of a nondescript brick wall. Hermione glanced behind her, and sure enough, the appa-whatsit or whatever the professor called that particular mode of transportation, had bypassed the Leaky Cauldron.

"The Leaky Cauldron is the muggle entrance," McGonagall informed her, "Most witches and wizards apparate, as we did." She withdrew her long wand from a billowing sleeve and tapped a pattern on the wall.

Hermione stared in wonder as the bricks rearranged themselves and seemingly melted together to form an arched entrance. It was just as neat the second time seeing it, for this time she was not mesmerized by the simple act of real magic, and was able to pick up on smaller details, such as the fact that the dustbins hopped over a few feet to make room, or that the wall seemed to shudder for a few seconds before transforming into the archway.

The brick wall's transformation complete, Hermione peered into Diagon Alley and saw a mass of sights. Women in different color robes roamed, some stopped to congregate and gossip while others hurried by quickly singly or pulling a child along. Men were present as well, though they seemed to be more relaxed as they strode along, most conversing with friends.

Then there were the shops, which lined the sides of the Alley. While most were discreet and muted, such as the small, dingy storefront that had a simple sign reading, "Ollivanders," other shops vied noisily for her attention. Quidditch Quality Supplies had a sign that scrolled letters to advertise something called a Nimbus, though her gaze caught a modest shop with piles of books visible through sparkling windows.

At the end of the street, a massive golden building stood, the largest in the street, and it glinted brilliantly in the sunlight. If she squinted her eyes, Hermione could just see the outlines of the darker letters which proudly proclaimed the name of the institution, though she could not for the life of her remember what it was, for in her excursion a few years back, she had not entered the place.

She started a bit as she realized that the professor was waiting patiently for her to move, and Hermione sent her a sheepish smile, but the formidable woman forestalled any apologies.

"It is no matter. I still remember my first time truly seeing the Alley. Come along, now. There is much we must pick up."

With that, the pair entered the Alley. The professor strode purposefully, while Hermione hurried to keep up while trying to take in all of the fascinating sights. A woman rushed by, and Hermione could hear her muttering something about exorbitant prices for bicorn horns. Her eyes, however, kept returning to the great golden building at the end of the street. Gringotts, that was it, and if she remembered correctly, it was a bank.

Keeping on eye on the professor and the other on the bright fixture, out of the corner of her eye she caught a figure in all black with brilliant blond hair exit from a side street near Gringotts. He looked oddly familiar, she pondered as she watched the crowd before him part itself as he swept through and up the stairs to the building.

Could that be Lord Malfoy, the aristocrat whom she met at the Leaky Cauldron all those years ago? Hermione felt an irrational connection to him, for it was their meeting that had spurred Munin to contact and mentor her. She wanted to find out if it was he, if for no other reason than to satisfy her insatiable curiosity, but she needed an excuse. A crinkle in her pocket decided her.

"Professor? I have some muggle money to use to buy extra books. Is there a bank where I can exchange it?"

"That would be Gringotts, the wizarding bank. Let us stop there first, and you can open your own vault."

They made their way towards the bank, occasionally slowed down by old students of Professor McGonagall's, but their progress was steady and they soon entered the building. It was unusually cool inside, and staffed by the oddest green people who were measuring jewels and talking with customers. They looked like goblins with their long, pointed noses and sharp teeth.

McGonagall led Hermione over to a desk, whispering in her ear that indeed they were goblins, and not to stare at them. Hermione ducked her head shyly as she answered the questions emanating from the rough voice of the goblin teller, covertly peeking around for the blond man.

"Miss Granger, the muggle money, please," McGonagall reminded her, and Hermione dug it out of her pocket. She did not see the figure some distance behind her pause and nonchalantly turn to look at her.

By the time they were finished with the exchange and setting up of the vault, Hermione had finally found the blond man. He was standing over a desk, speaking in a low voice to a goblin, one who looked frankly intimidated.

McGonagall must have noticed him as well, for she put a hand on Hermione's shoulder and led her towards the entrance.

"Deputy Headmistress," drawled a cultured voice, which drew the pair to a stop.

"Lord Malfoy," McGonagall acknowledged stiffly, though politely. "Do you have Hogwarts business? If so, I suggest you take it up with Headmaster Dumbledore. I have urgent business, myself."

Malfoy glanced at the small girl by her side. "So I see. I merely wised to remind you that my son will be entering Hogwarts this year. I desired that he attend Durmstrang, but his mother," he gestured elegantly, "she could not abide that he be so distant from home."

"My sympathies," McGonagall replied frostilty, "though I fail to see how that concerns me. I somehow doubt that the Malfoy heir would be Sorted into my House."

"Of course," his eyes slid again to the small girl, and Hermione gave a brief nod of respect, as her books had recommended. Malfoy's lips quirked into a slight smirk, as if amused by an inner thought. "I would be most disappointed if he did not enter my former House, though I do not foresee it as a foreseeable issue."

"I look forward to teaching him," McGonagall said, "especially if he inherited his attitude as well as his appearance from his father."

"Give my regards to Severus," Malfoy said with an imperious tone, one that implied he was through wasting his time. "Merlin knows how he manages to stay at that institution and keep his sanity."

With those parting words, he majestically strode out of the building, his snake-head cane tapping softly on the tile floor.

"Let us go shop, Miss Granger," McGonagall said after she visibly restrained her temper.

"Professor?" Hermione asked innocently. "I thought you said that honesty is very important."

The professor stared at the girl, and then chuckled a bit. "Even the best of us slip at times, especially when provoked. Come on, let's get your wand from Ollivanders, first."

Hermione followed, lost in thought. It was obvious that the Lord Malfoy was disliked by some, and that he intimidated most people. She remembered the way the crowd of people in the Alley parted for him, and how the goblin teller obviously wished he had been approached by anyone else.

Lord Malfoy had power, and plenty of it.

McGonagall led her into the dark and dingy shop, where hundreds of boxes sat piled on top of each other wherever she turned. After suffering through incountable seemingly pointless measurements – did she really need the distance between her nostrils measured? – the creepy old man's ramblings and mutterings, and many failed wavings of wands, he finally paused before a box.

"Could it be? No, how odd… yet perhaps…" He slowly drew out the box, careful to leave the other boxes around it undisturbed, and handed it to the girl.

Hermione frowned slightly at his odd words, exasperated by the long search. She took the box and lifted off the lid, revealing a brown wand the same color as her eyes. Something about it drew her, and she could not look away as her eyes sought to memorize the vein of the wood itself. With a slightly trembling hand, she lifted the wand from its cushion and felt an immediate warmth emanating from it.

She was complete for the first time in her life, as if she had been missing an essential part of her but had never known it.

Hermione threw her arm into the air, and from the tip of the wand flew two turtledoves, one white and the other black, which perched on her shoulders, singing softly.

"Curious, very curious indeed," mumbled Ollivander. "That wand is 27 and nearly a third centimeters, springy and flexible, made from vine wood. But the core, that is the curious thing."

"How so?" asked McGonagall sharply as Hermione giggled and pet the two birds.

"I remember every wand in this store, for I made most of them and collected most of the ingredients for them. This particular core is from the heartstring of a rather spectacular female Hungarian Ridgeback, part of a nesting pair that was causing a spot of trouble for a local village there. I remember this in particular, for the dragon handlers managed to surprise the male and put him down, but his mate found his body before long. She was incredibly vicious and put up a great deal of a fight. She managed to chase away all of the handlers, then stood vigil by her dead mate, never sleeping and never eating. The wizards tried once to chase her off or subdue her, but she fought them off."

"How did you manage to get the heartstring, Mr. Ollivander?" Hermione asked seriously. Even the two birds seemed to follow his every word.

"That is the sad part," he replied quietly. "The female Ridgeback stood over her dead mate until she starved to death." He did not tell them how the dragon would nudge her mate in a vain attempt to wake him up, or how she would cry mournfully when he failed to move. Nor did he tell them how no wizard who listened to the great sorrow of the magnificent animal could help but shed tears.

"I took the main artery from the heart of each dragon."

"What about the other? Was it sold as well?" asked McGonagall.

"Well, ah, I actually do not remember that," stammered Ollivander. "It has completely slipped my mind. That will be eight Galleons Miss Granger, thank you for coming, and it has been nice to see you again, Minerva. I must return to my work, thank you again."

With that, he nearly pushed them out of his shop, leaving professor and student slightly stunned.

"Is Mr. Ollivander always that odd?" Hermione asked.

"Mr. Ollivander is quite… eccentric, to be sure, but never have I known him to forget any detail about any wand," McGonagall answered with a frown. "No matter, we still have much to do. In the spirit of efficiency, we will split up. I will pick up your potion equipment and drop you off at Madam Malkins for your robes. I have to run a quick errand for Hogwarts, so stay at the shop until I return."

Hermione agreed and was quickly spirited off to the store, where a thin witch with a kind smile directed her onto a small raised platform and began to pin voluminous robes to her frame. At least, they felt voluminous to Hermione, who was used to tight muggle clothes.

In what felt like just a few minutes, Madam Malkin finished the fitting and provided Hermione with her entire Hogwarts kit, shrunk to fit easily into a pocket as a courtesy.

Finished, Hermione went to the window and watched the people go by as she waited for Professor McGonagall. She felt through the outside of her pocket for her wand and stroked it slowly, thoughtfully. Ollivander's story truly was beautiful, she thought, though she very much wanted to know who possessed the other wand, the partner heartstring. She didn't know what it meant, if it meant anything, but it was…

"Curious," Hermione said aloud, echoing Ollivander. Her wand was still slightly warm to the touch even through her pocket, though it was not uncomfortable. She slipped her hand into the pocket to touch it, and when she did, she could almost feel it straining against the denim of her jeans.

Hermione frowned. It actually was straining, pressing against her jeans as if wanting to escape its confines. She turned around to ask the witch if this was common behavior for wands, but it abruptly changed direction, now pressing against her. Experimenting, Hermione turned different directions, and each time her wand continued to press towards a single direction.

She pulled it out and whispered to it, "Where do you want to go? Do you want to find your mate again? I don't know where he is, wand." It continued to press insistently. "Alright, we can go look very quickly, but Professor McGonagall will be back soon."

Hermione did not put her wand back in her pocket, but kept it out low at her side. She waved a cheery thank you and goodbye to the employee in the store, and left the store, following the pull of her wand.

She slowed when she realized that it was pointing insistently towards a side street, a very dark and narrow alley with a shadowed entrance. As if sensing her reticence, the wand pulled harder. Hermione hesitated a touch longer, then sighed. "Just hurry," she told her wand, and she could almost fool herself into believing that it sighed as well, in exasperation.

Hermione hurried into the dark alley and tried to stay in the shadows, out of sight of the various skulking figures. She felt horribly out of place and was certain that young girls were not supposed to be here, wherever here actually was called. The street was largely deserted, though a few individuals walked quickly to their various destinations, generally one of the few shops that lined the street, though most buildings were dark and looked uninhabited.

All of the people wore robes of muted colors, and many hid their faces in deep cowls. Hermione shuddered when she saw one wild-looking woman selling what seemed to be human fingernails, though she did not want to look very close.

Her wand kept pressing onwards through the twists and turns of the alley, and Hermione felt panic rising. She tried to reason that she would be able to find her way back out, that none of the shady denizens would do anything, that her wand would find what it wanted and let her just go back to Diagon Alley…

"Hello, dearie, need help?" came a hushed voice in her ear. Hermione spun around with a shriek and came face to face with a man in all black and a sharp smile glinting in the dim light.

She backed up against the nearest wall, horror rising up inside of her, as the sinister looking man looked terrifyingly like a vampire. "G-g-get away from me," Hermione stammered as she raised her wand.

He laughed mockingly, causing another cold spike of fear to run down Hermione's spine and clutch her gut in an icy grip. What could she do? She knew no magic, no one in the area was even watching the altercation, and she had no way to bargain. Desperate, she lashed out with a fist towards the smirking face.

The man moved in a blink to catch her hand with ease. He shot out his other hand and lowered her wand hand, then moved in even closer. He breathed deeply, his eyes half-lidded, "I do love the scent of an innocent. The terror will make this all the sweeter."

Hermione closed her eyes, unwilling to meet certain death with eyes open. _Help me, Munin! Anyone, please!_

She shot them open a second later when she felt the presence gone and heard the heavy thump of a body hitting the ground. The air sizzled with power, and a large blonde man stood threateningly over the fallen body of her attacker, wand pointed at his chest.

"Leave," uttered her savior, who still had his back to Hermione. "Leave, and you had better hope you never cross my path again if you want to save your worthless hide." His words cracked like whips in the suddenly cold street.

The man on the ground nodded fervently and scrambled to his hands and knees, then stumbled to his feet and ran off deeper into the alley.

Hermione, able to breathe for the first time in the past few minutes, took a shuddering breath and realized that silent tears ran down her face. She scrubbed them away with a shirtsleeve and was reminded of her wand still in her hand. It was more active than ever, but she shoved it back in her pocket with a whispered, "Shut it, you."

She took a small step away from the wall towards the man who saved her. "I don't know what to say, sir," she said in a small voice, "thank you so much."

The man swiftly turned on his heel and rounded on the girl. It was Lord Malfoy.

"What were you thinking, you stupid girl?" he spoke low, dangerously, fury evident in every line of his body and every nuance of his words. "How arrogant of you to waltz into Knockturn Alley, without a care in that empty head of yours." He stalked towards her, driving her back into the wall. "You think that just because you possess a wand, you are accepted? That you are safe?"

Hermione shook her head frantically, unable to speak, even to defend herself.

"What were you thinking?" he asked again, fiery wrath calming into simmering anger. "Where is McGonagall? Why is she not with you now? Answer me, girl!"

It had no effect on Hermione, still paralyzed with shock after the attack, the miraculous appearance of Lord Malfoy, and his subsequent barrage of demanding questions. Tears again ran down her face.

Malfoy sighed harshly, visibly calming himself. He reached out with a hand and grasped her shoulder gently. "Hermione Granger," he spoke in a low but stern tone, "why did you enter Knockturn Alley?"

Hearing her name brought Hermione back to herself. "I, I didn't realize, I didn't know where it was. I was just following my wand; it wanted to go here and I had to follow."

Malfoy held out his hand. She fumbled in her pocket and took out her wand. It was warmer than ever, and vibrated in her hand, still straining towards the dark shadows of the alley, through Lord Malfoy. She placed it securely in his well-manicured hand and wrapped her arms around herself.

Malfoy turned it over in his hands, studying it. His eyes narrowed in thought and widened in surprise. He tapped it admonishingly a few times, then held it back out for Hermione.

"You shouldn't let it push you around like that," he said quietly. "Most wands are quiet, but yours has personality. She will make her opinion heard at times, and if you do not master her, she will control you."

Hermione nodded her head and took back her wand, for once subdued. "Yes, Lord Malfoy, thank you again," she said, nearly inaudible. "How do you know that?"

"It is a bit of wand lore, nothing more than that," he answered brusquely, reverting back to his normal aristocratic attitude now that the girl was answering. "Now answer my earlier question. Where is McGonagall, and where are you supposed to be?"

"She left me at Madam Malkins to get my Hogwarts robes. I was supposed to stay there but my wand," she shrugged helplessly.

He nodded sharply, and then grabbed her wrist. "You should get back before she notices your absence."

Malfoy hurried her back towards the entrance to Diagon Alley, taking a different route than Hermione used to come in, but they soon saw the light of the brighter alley.

"Lord Malfoy?" she stopped before they exited. "Why did you save me? I am incredibly grateful, of course, but you had no obligation to do so."

He stopped as well, staring down his nose at her. "Miss Granger. I have been accused of many things, some of them actually true, but not even I would let an innocent girl be accosted in such a manner as you were, especially as I have a son your age. Though," he said with a conspiratorial smirk, "I would appreciate it if you would not spread that fact around. I still have a reputation to uphold."

Hermione smiled slightly and opened her mouth to respond when a loud voice rang out and echoed in the narrow street.

"Lucius Malfoy! How _dare_ you!" McGonagall furiously rushed towards the pair, eyes focused on Malfoy's hand still firmly gripping Hermione's wrist. Hermione watched her approach with shock, a small awake part of her brain likening it to a pouncing lioness with hackles raised.

He dropped it and turned to face the encroaching Professor, meeting her vitriol with thinly veiled barbs. He was the hissing cobra to the Professor's lion, both symbols of their Houses, Hermione realized.

"How dare I what, Deputy Headmistress?" he answered smoothly, dangerously. "For all you know, I was returning the girl to you. Or perhaps not."

McGonagall snatched Hermione away from Malfoy's grasp and thrust her towards Diagon Alley, away from Knockturn and the aristocrat.

"I don't know what dark intentions you have with the girl, Malfoy-"

"Madam, I had no _dark_ intentions with the chit, except to take her where she belongs." Ignoring the woman sputtering with rage, he elegantly turned on his heel and with a loud _crack_, he disapparated.

McGonagall turned on Hermione. "How did you end up in the company of that odious man?" she shook with fury.

Hermione was now rather annoyed at the entire situation, and that she kept being yelled at like everything was her fault. Of course, much of it was, but she didn't need to be told that so many times, and in such loud and demanding voices.

She answered truthfully, "I am not quite sure, Professor. Everything happened so fast. I'm just glad that you're here now so we can finish our shopping." It wasn't technically a lie, Hermione reasoned to herself. She did not see Lord Malfoy actually save her; she had her eyes closed until the very end. And he had told her not to reveal that he helped her.

McGonagall looked at her hard, but seemed to accept her response. "I'm sure that _he_ had something to do with that. Miss Granger, you must be aware of who that man is, and who he represents." She guided Hermione back into the bustle of Diagon Alley, where she secluded them in a niche in a wall for a private conversation.

"Now, you must not repeat this to anyone, not even to any friends you make in the wizarding world. I would not tell you this if it were not for this incident. If Lucius Malfoy takes an interest in you, you must know his background and what he has done. _He is not to be trusted_. There are rumors that he is a Death Eater. Do you know what that is?"

Hermione nodded. She had read enough history books to know exactly what they were and who they followed.

"The rumors are absolutely correct, and not only that, but he was the right-hand man of You-Know-Who." Hermione's eyes went wide. "I see that you do know and at least somewhat understand the significance of this. He can put on a charming and charismatic face, and he has more than enough wealth to line the pockets of every corrupt politician, which is what kept him out of Azkaban, but he is the most dangerous man alive and out of prison, the moreso because of his political power. He is the de facto leader of all conservative purebloods. Lucius Malfoy _controls_, Miss Granger. He takes, and he only gives when it suits him and his plans.

"Now, can I trust you to keep this secret? Can I trust you to stay away from him and his son? Draco Malfoy will be a classmate of yours, but like father, like son."

Hermione nodded fervently, and McGonagall was appeased. "Now, let us finish our shopping quickly and get you back home."

Hermione's head was in a spin as she was quickly ushered in and out of the remaining stores. It had been such a stressful day full of emotional highs and lows, from the arrival of her Hogwarts letter and entrance to Diagon Alley, the choosing of her wand and the evil man in Knockturn Alley, and then being saved by Lord Malfoy himself, whom she then was strictly warned off in no uncertain terms.

It did not make sense to her, that he would save her. Why would he plot anything around her? He did not know her, just a lowly muggleborn. No, while she was sure that McGonagall meant well, and that much of the information was correct, Hermione had to believe that Lucius Malfoy was not all bad.

Later in the day, she bid farewell to the professor and told a – highly edited – version of her exploits in Diagon Alley to her parents. They exclaimed over her wand and her tale of golden Gringotts, and of the bookstore packed from floor to ceiling with books on fascinating and alien topics.

She went to bed that night with a full heart, clutching her wand to her chest and feeling the comfortable warmth of it soothe her to sleep.

Hermione awoke in the middle of the night to a quiet _pop_. The light scent of wood and brandy was present, just barely enough to recognize. She smiled in delight, for it was rare that she was awoken from sleep by her dear mentor.

Sure enough, on her nightstand lay a letter. Hermione grabbed it carefully, eager to read it, but when she opened it, a silver chain fell out of the folds. She picked it up off the floor and studied it in the dim moonlight. It was made with a hundred tiny silver links and sparkled as she twisted it one way and then another. Before she put it in, she picked up the letter to read it.

_My dear Hermione,_

_I heard a most interesting story this evening from an associate of mine who saw a fascinating altercation in Knockturn Alley._

_Hermione, I did tell you not to wander about by yourself, did I not? At the first available opportunity, what do you do, but just that. Diagon Alley is safe in the presence of another witch or wizard, but I would not trust your safety in that nefarious place even with Minerva McGonagall._

_While I am infuriated at your egregious breach of my trust, for I thought I knew you better than to go gallivanting alone in one of the most dangerous places in London, I will give you a chance to explain yourself._

_It had better be very good indeed._

_On a somewhat more pleasant note, this escapade of yours gave yours truly a brilliant idea – as they all are, though this one is more brilliant than most. I have taken two identical silver bracelets and charmed them with a modified Protean Charm, along with several others. I have the matching bracelet, of course, and it will warm when you are in danger. I will come to your aid, or if I am somehow detained, I will send a trusted associate. At the moment it sends an alert to my bracelet, it will also send me a brief picture of what you see so that I might be able to find you efficiently._

_This bracelet cannot be removed except by yourself. Not even I can remove yours, and you are also unable to be coerced into unclasping it, by anything short of an Imperius. Of course, that qualifies as danger, so I would be alerted regardless._

_I urge you to keep it on at all times, even when you sleep. This silver will not weaken with age, nor will it tarnish._

_I await your expedient reply – and your comprehensive explanation – with patience, and I remain,_

_Your Munin_

Finished with the letter, Hermione immediately put on the bracelet on her left wrist and watched as the clasp shrunk down until it was the size of a tiny link. She touched it again, and it grew back into its normal size. She grinned as she shrunk it again. Hermione truly loved magic!

Reading through the letter again, the girl resolved to answer the letter the first thing in the morning, and to tell Munin everything about the entire day. He wanted comprehensive? Well, he would definitely get comprehensive.

Hermione smiled, content as she snuggled back into bed, the letter within reach on her stand, her stuffed raven in the crook of an elbow, her wand clutched in her left hand, and her right hand gently caressing the bracelet.

Lucius Malfoy lay in his bed as well that night, though sleep came less easily to him than it did to his communicant. He tossed and turned in his luxurious silk sheets, alone as usual. Narcissa insisted on living in a separate wing from him, and he was only too glad to grant her request, though on nights like these, he almost missed the human contact.

Almost. He was not fond of Narcissa, nor she him.

Perhaps that was why he reached out to the little, babbling, and defiant girl nearly four years prior. The chit was a breath of innocence, untouched by darkness, a clean slate. Even his own son was molded by Narcissa and the demands of pureblood society, even for a child, especially for a scion of the noble House of Malfoy.

Regardless, the step he took tonight, Lucius was not entirely convinced was proper, was essential to the original plan. It was his hope that it would further gain her trust, and it also freed him to approach her in the guise of Munin or even as himself, to establish Lucius Malfoy as a trusted friend of Munin and therefore of Hermione herself.

Still, he had niggling doubts, mostly about his own ability to remain impartial and unbiased when dealing with the girl. Upon seeing her terror-stricken eyes in Knockturn Alley when accosted by that filth, he was out of control and only barely restrained his baser instincts that screamed at him to kill the man. It would have been so easy to do so.

That was nothing, however, compared to when he was initially questioning her, when he looked into her eyes and saw that she was just as afraid of himself as the unknown assailant.

He had wanted nothing more in that moment than to comfort her, to reveal himself as her dear Munin so that she would cease crying, so that his heart, he thought remained reserved for his son alone, would stop clenching with every tear that rushed down her tiny face.

Lucius only hoped that meddling Minerva had not poisoned Hermione too much against himself, against Malfoys in general.

Tomorrow would show. He trusted that the girl would live up to his demands for a "comprehensive" report of the day, including whatever the Hogwarts professor had told her, and hopefully she would include something that would explain the strange connection he felt to her wand, or the fact that his own began vibrating when he held hers.

Lucius Malfoy sighed and turned on his back once more, the new silver bracelet clasped on his right wrist, his left hand gently caressing it as he slid slowly into sweet oblivion.


	5. The Beginning

A/N: So, I've been gone a while. Quite a while. I've had my imagination captured elsewhere by other fandoms, by work, by school, by applications, but I've never quite been able to get this story out of my head. Even though I'm far too busy to contemplate doing so, I will continue work on this story. At some point, I'd really like to go back and edit the first four chapters, but pushing on for now is probably best. Any changes would be cosmetic, not integral to the plot.

So here's the idea – starting with the next chapter, each chapter will cover one year of Hogwarts. I have the first year planned out and outlined, but only scenes here and there for the next. It will most likely be HBP and DH compliant. I have the ending worked out, and I urge people to pay attention to the opening lines with Lucius. They are important, or will be. If there is any confusion, please let me know and I will experiment to make his sections appear separate to Hermione's story, but expect for them to precede every installment.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, or alerted this story. It is due to your interest that I keep writing.

DN

**Chapter Five: The Beginning**

Lucius Malfoy resisted the urge to cast the Tempus charm again. He knew that only a few minutes had crept by, slowly and deliberating, as if mocking him. How he wished there was a spell to speed up time! Or, at the very least, a magical aid to make one not feel the passage of time, so that one could spend a few hours in a daze, uncaring and unaware of the soft ticking of a clock as it marked the duration of time. Without such a spell or potion at his disposal, to Lucius, the seconds felt as lengthy as minutes, and minutes as prolonged as hours.

The spaces between the ticks and the tocks of each second were a suffocating silence, growing lengthier with each successive passing. They were a yawning deepness; the sharp clicks made each absence of sound even starker, more absolute.

More damning, even, for if the great grandfather clock could speak, Lucius knew that it would speak with the collective voices of his cold, proud ancestors.

It was not hard to guess at what they would say.

Lost in thought, Lucius gradually came back to himself and idly noted that he was slowly swinging his cane in time with the sharp clicks. The cane was clasped lightly in his right hand, the silver serpent head defiantly baring its teeth, the slivers of emeralds that composed its eyes staring into his own.

It was a poorly kept secret that Lucius Malfoy sheathed his wand in his walking stick. It ensured that his wand was always close at hand. What most people did not know was that the hissing snake head, which comprised the handle of the wand, was cleverly detachable.

He kept it on for appearance's sake and for intimidation of the weak-minded, and also because it forced his hand into a different grip, one more suited to sharp stabs and slashing when casting spells. Ironically enough, those were the same motions that most curses required.

The emerald eyes sparkled ominously, catching bits of light and throwing them into his eyes.

Inexplicable irritated, Lucius ceased the repetitive motion and smoothly drew his wand from the walking stick. He eased the stick against the desk and turned the wand over in his hands, fingertips lightly ghosting along the surface. They felt various shallow nicks, those that resisted the most stringent of cleaning and polishing.

Thirty and a half centimeters. Wood of an ancient elm tree. Stiff, inflexible, like its owner.

Dragon heartstring.

He knew why Hermione's wand had reacted so strongly, those years ago in Diagon Alley. Whereas then, he had shied away from the obvious answer, too headstrong and arrogant to accept that there were some things out of his control, now he mentally stood back from the situation and analyzed it.

After all these years, he was finally ready to accept the truth.

That was why he was here. That was why he was waiting.

How Lucius Malfoy hated waiting.

The concrete wall looked very solid.

Hermione swallowed nervously as she clutched the handle to the trolley that held her heavy trunk, stuffed to the brim with as many books as could possibly fit.

She could, of course, run full-speed into the wall and close her eyes to make it easy, but what if it wasn't a magical trick? Maybe she had the wrong wall? 'Hogwarts, A History' couldn't be wrong, but she might be.

Hermione contemplated walking up to it to press her hand against it, but a peek around the busy station convinced her that people might see and question a girl missing half an arm leaning into a wall.

She fiddled nervously with a loose button on her jacket, thinking. As was her custom, Hermione had arrived early, over half an hour before the scheduled departure time for the Hogwarts Express, and had spent a few on a long and teary goodbye to her parents, especially her father. It was only after she promised to send them a letter as soon as possible and then weekly afterwards that they allowed her to trudge with her loaded trolley through the crowded Kings Cross. Somehow, Hermione thought it best that her muggleborn status be kept as quiet as possible, at least until she was Sorted and hopefully after she made a friend or two. She had been fretting about being late and missing the train, but it seemed as if few other Hogwarts students shared her promptness. No one around her stood staring at the concrete wall, let alone running through it!

Frustrated, she tugged too hard at the button and it popped off in her hand. She sighed, and hoping that she could find a simple needle and thread at Hogwarts to sew it back on. If wizards used needles.

Scowling at the stupid button, Hermione was suddenly hit with a bolt of inspiration. Balancing the button on her thumb, she flicked it against the wall.

It somersaulted through the air, hit the wall… and passed through. A second later, she heard it strike the ground on the other side with a very muffled thunk.

Grinning in triumph, Hermione edged closer to the wall. She glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then quickly shoved the trolley through the barrier. With another glance, she nonchalantly leaned against the wall and fell into the rabbit hole.

The bright red train dominated her awed gaze, and the heavy yet buoyant sensation of concentrated magic lifting her heart. Hermione gave a light delighted laugh as she grabbed her listless trolley and wheeled it towards the open door of the train. There were only a few people standing around, including the conductor, but there was no question that this was where she was meant to be.

One of the lone figures on the platform caught her eye as he strode closer to her. He was an average looking wizard, as wizards went in her limited experience, with short brown hair that looked oddly familiar, black robes, and was that a glint of silver on his right wrist?

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she briefly touched the matching bracelet on her wrist.

It was Munin.

What should she do? How should she greet him? She knew he was a pureblood, but did he hold with the customs?

She stood staring, frozen with indecision. Her mentor and benefactor quirked an eyebrow, then nodded his head to acknowledge her.

All of her breath came out in a whoosh. Hermione could not restrain herself, but launched her quivering body at the man. Her head burrowed into his soft silky robes as her arms wrapped around him tightly, her mouth spouting words of thanks, praise, and gratitude.

His body was tight with shock and discomfort, but he slowly relaxed enough to wrap his arms around her. "Enough of this," he said soothingly into her ear, despite himself. "You did not think I would neglect to see you off to Hogwarts?"

Hermione shook her head and backed out of his embrace with a slight sigh and reddened cheeks. She had not meant to lose control! She had wanted to display proper deportment befitting the old ways, even if she was an unruly muggleborn child; she only hoped that Munin understood and forgave her.

Her wand, which had been mulishly silent the past few weeks, strained once again against the confines of her jeans pocket. It warmed past the point of comfort, though Hermione was reluctant to display her wand's odd quirks in front of Munin, she tapped it sharply with a finger and told it a firm, "No."

Munin looked at her with a question. Hermione shrugged sheepishly and muttered something about a wand with too much personality who didn't know how to behave.

With a slight chuckle, the man reached a hand into the recesses of his inky robes and withdrew a leather bundle. He presented it to her with a flourish. "Perhaps she will appreciate a proper holder more befitting her abilities and temperament."

Hermione took the object with steady hands and unwrapped it to reveal a handsome wand holder, designed to strap to a wrist. It was soft and supple, polished and gleaming dimly, and she could not help but stroke it gently.

Large hands filled her vision, hands that helped her secure it to her wrist. "You must always keep your wand on you," Munin admonished. "Learn shielding and basic defensive charms first, then jinxes. Practice drawing your wand quickly and subtly. It may save your life one day."

Hermione nodded seriously. She always listened when Munin lectured, though usually it was on a paper that she could reread and memorize.

Her temperamental wand in its new luxurious throne, Hermione stretched and twisted her arm, trying to get the holder comfortable.

"You'll get used to it," Munin said.

Hermione resisted the urge to hug him again, instead she held out her hand and politely said, "Thank you very much."

Munin did not shake her hand, but grasped her fingers lightly and brought it to his lips in a courtly gesture of generations past.

Hermione went scarlet as her pulse raced and her breath quickened. The feeling of his soft kiss on the back of her hand was indescribable. It brought warmth throughout her body and she wanted nothing more than for him to do it again, then again.

He looked into her eyes as his other hand covered hers, warming it between his larger hands. "I have no doubt you will do fine, Hermione," he said quietly. "You will astound them all." He gave her hands one last squeeze before he let them drop to her side.

"How could I not, since you've taught me?" Hermione said cheekily.

He chuckled. "Very true, my dear. Together, we are untouchable, unbeatable."

His words sent another thrill through her body. They were together. He was counting on her, and he believed in her. She would not, could not let him down.

Munin's right arm jerked oddly and his wand shot out into his palm. With a subtle flourish, he tapped her trunk and muttered, "_Reducio_." It shrunk down to the size of a large matchbox, which he handed to Hermione. "Tap it with your wand to return it to its original size," he instructed. He didn't bother to tell her to take care, or how to shrink it again. If she had watched carefully enough, she could replicate the simple charm, or could convince an older student to do it for her.

"Thank you for everything, Munin," Hermione said sincerely, then a frightening thought came to her. "Can we still send letters when I'm at Hogwarts?"

He smirked. "I have already taken care of it," he said mysteriously. Munin glanced at his watch and at the filling platform, then sighed. "I must go."

Hermione nodded sadly. This was only the second time she had ever seen Munin in the flesh, not that she was naive enough to think this was his true form. No, if he wanted to keep his identity secret, there were many ways he could change his face and even his voice. With magic, he could be anyone.

A long finger lifted her chin to meet his light brown eyes. "I look forward to hearing about your Sorting, little one. I have no doubt that you will repay the trust and consideration I have given you."

"Even if I get sorted into Gryffindor?" Hermione asked with a trace of desperation.

A scowl flickered over his features. "Even if," he promised with a hint of reluctance. "Now, time is pressing."

Hermione nodded and stepped into the entrance to the train. By the time she turned around, Munin was gone. "Goodbye," she whispered to the air. It might be as many years before she saw her friend and mentor again.

Gathering herself and fighting back tears stinging her eyes, Hermione stepped into the long corridor, peeking into the windows of each compartment before settling on one in the middle. Most were still empty, though they were filling up quickly, and she fumbled with her wand sheath before managing to get her wand out. Munin had made it look so easy and graceful. Hermione placed her shrunken trunk on the other seat and rapped it. It grew rapidly, and she reached in and grabbed the robes she had placed at the very top of her belongings. On second thought, she grabbed her potions book as well. She could never review too much, after all.

Hermione changed swiftly, exchanging her muggle jacket for her crisp black robes, and her jeans for the grey skirt, thankful she had thought to wear hose under her jeans. Done, she settled back into her seat, delighted with her new attire. She had paraded with her wizarding ware in front of her parents and a mirror in the privacy of her room, but it was exciting to be finally wearing them for real. It was as if, by changing her clothes from muggle to wizarding, she truly became a witch. She sloughed off her magicless self for a newer, exciting, talented magical Hermione.

She burrowed into her soft cotton robes and tucked her feet under her to read her potions text for the third time. Every read revealed more information that had gone unnoticed before, even when Hermione was sure that she had read every word the previous time.

Every so often, she touched her wand secure in its sheath, then the bracelet that softly glinted in the sunlight.

Her peaceful reverie was interrupted by a chubby face contorted with suppressed tears. "Have you," he hiccupped, "Have you seen a toad around here?"

Hermione could not help herself - the boy looked pitiful. She jumped from her seat and ushered him into the compartment. "I'm sure you'll find him... what's your name?"

He sighed. "Neville Longbottom."

Hermione's mind raced. Longbottom, that surname sounded familiar... Ah yes, a very pure family, one of the moderates currently ruled by one Augusta Longbottom, this boy's paternal grandmother.

He was potentially a worthy ally.

Munin had instructed her to find them, to collect people she found useful and who would stick with her out of respect, fear, or necessity. Hermione had no illusions about her ability to frighten people, or lackthereof, so she had to stay with respect. She could do that.

"Nice to meet you, Neville." Hermione stuck out her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger, first year. I haven't seen your toad, but I bet we can find an older student who knows a Summoning charm. It's a Fifth Year Spell."

Neville's face lit up. "You think? That's a great idea."

Hermione carefully placed her book back in her trunk and locked it, placing the key in her pocket. "Let's go find someone," she said with a smile as they left the compartment.

They wandered down the corridor, glancing into each to find an older student who looked pleasant. Some of them had fierce scowls on their faces, which seemed incredible to Hermione. Who wouldn't want to be at Hogwarts? Who wouldn't want to learn magic?

"Do you know what House you'll be in?" she asked Neville idly as they passed another empty compartment.

He sighed gloomily. "No one knows until we get there, but there's no way I'll make it into Gryffindor like my parents. More likely Hufflepuff."

"There are worse things than being known for loyalty and hard work," Hermione said kindly. "Though I do understand wanting to live up to people."

Yes, she certainly understood that. Her parents had no preconceived notions about one House being better than the other, but Munin did. He had explained years ago about the four Houses, and had given her a rather biased view. She hadn't needed to ask what House he belonged to; his scathing explanation of Gryffindor as, "the House of the foolishly headstrong and over-compensators" had been enough, especially when combined with his praise of Slytherin as, "the home for the wisely ambitious and practically cunning."

Hermione had questioned him about her possible House, but had received no definite answer, just a vague, "wherever you should be." She wasn't sure if that was because he didn't know for certain and didn't want to be wrong (she knew he absolutely hated that), or if he didn't want to influence her Sorting. Considering his actions ever since intervening in her life, however, Hermione was more inclined to believe the former reason.

Munin had been influencing her from the beginning. Hermione rather thought that his influence was the exact reason he began their relationship.

A tall boy with shock of red hair perched atop horn-rimmed glasses slipped out of a compartment as they passed, and Hermione noted the Prefect badge pinned prominently on the boy's chest with relief. Finally, an older student who could help.

"Say, what are two first years doing wandering the corridors? Do you need help to find an empty compartment? I'm a prefect, you know, I can assist you." He adjusted his glasses and flashed his badge at them as he spoke.

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. They did need his help, sure, but did he think them blind to miss the shiny badge or merely incapable of reading the letters? Their lack of luggage might also be an indication that they had already claimed a compartment, else they'd be carrying it with them.

At least it would be easy to gain his assistance. "Oh, I'm relieved we found you," Hermione said with a laugh. "Neville, it's a prefect, he can help." Neville somehow missed her mocking and nodded vigorously. Oh dear. "You see, Neville lost his toad, and we were looking for someone who could perform a Summoning Charm."

The prefect, whatever his name was though by the look of him if Hermione consulted her genealogy books she was sure his last name would be Weasley, nodded his head in what he considered an understanding manner. "You are lucky that I am an advanced student. Most don't bother to learn this charm until the end of 5th year. What's the name of this toad?" Neville nearly shouted the toad's name in Hermione's ear and she winced slightly, but Weasley brandished his wand and intoned solemnly, "_Accio Trevor."_

They waited for a few seconds until a green object came zooming through the long corridor. The prefect almost caught it. He did try, but Trevor proved a mastermind at escape, and Weasley was forced to summon him thrice more until he finally maintained his grip on the squirmy amphibian. Annoyed, the red-haired boy shoved the toad into Neville's pocket.

Hermione and Neville thanked the tall boy, though Hermione didn't have the heart to tell him that his glasses were askew after his uncoordinated lunges after the Houdini-esque toad.

"Make sure he stays in that pocket, Neville," she lectured as they meandered back to her compartment. "Unless you want to find Mr. Prefect again."

Neville mumbled an agreement. They stopped in front of her seat and Hermione extended an invitation. "You know you can sit with me in here if you like," she offered. "I'm just planning on rereading my textbooks. Maybe we could quiz each other and pinpoint our weaknesses."

The chubby boy looked at her with an odd expression on his face. Hermione couldn't quite decipher it, but she thought it unlikely that he would agree that her plan was as exciting as she considered it. Oh well, some people had no idea of a good time, she thought gloomily as Neville stuttered a polite rejection and scuttled away, one hand clutching his wriggling pocket.

And they had gotten together so well until then. Had she made a good enough impression? Had she "collected" the heir to the Longbottom line, as Munin would say?

She shrugged to herself. Probably not, but it was a start.

About to open the sliding door, a flash of light gold out of the corner of her eye drew her attention, and Hermione turned to see an arrogant sneer in a pale narrow face crowned by nearly-white hair. That had to be a Malfoy. That had to be the son of Lord Lucius Malfoy. What was his name, Draco? He was flanked by two larger boys with dull faces; one of them clutched a bleeding hand to his chest.

Hermione froze, a slight smile pasted onto her mouth. While she was grateful towards Lord Malfoy for his most recent assistance – in addition to their initial meeting years ago – the witch held no illusions as to her supposed worth in the eyes of such purebloods.

Sure enough, the first words out of his mouth sunk the remnants of her meager hopes.

"And who are you?" His pale eyes glanced up and down contemptuously. "Never mind, I already can tell. I already know everyone of worth who starts this year. You're just some silly mudblood who wishes to aspire to my prestige. You'll soon learn that purebloods run this world, and we're going to run you out of it and back to your proper place in the mud." He twitched his robes away from her as if avoiding a plagued beggar.

Hermione fought back the tears that threatened to overrun; she knew that the boy would see them as a victory when in fact they were born from fury. She resisted the powerful urge to show the boy that a pureblood bled as easily as she, and it was only the knowledge that he probably knew a lot more hexes than she did that kept her from reaching for her wand. She resolved to research a shield and a rather nasty jinx as soon as they reached Hogwarts.

"At least you know your place already. Silence in the presence of your betters."

Hermione couldn't help herself. "No," she said sweetly, "I'm merely thinking of how red and gold will clash with your hair. Gold isn't really your color."

"How dare you," he seethed. "My family has been sorted into Slytherin for generations."

She shrugged. "There's always a first. There's no shame if you lack the subtly and cunning of a snake. After all, only an idiot would insult someone before knowing their family and connections. See you at Hogwarts, Draco."

With that, she slipped inside the compartment and locked the door. So much for hiding her blood status, if a pureblood could pick up on it within seconds, Hermione considered as she picked up her potion's text. Oh well. It's not like she was going to apologize for it. She'd stood up to Munin; Draco Malfoy was nothing.

Thankfully, the rest of the train ride remained uninterupted. Hermione managed to review half of the book, surprised once again how it seemed to be slightly different every time she read it. It was as if the words altered just slightly, or as she understood the fundamentals of a potion, the explanations lost the most basic information but included more references and connections to other potions. It made her want to pull out her Charms and Transfiguration texts to see if they had the same phenomena, but the train began to slow. She reluctantly stored her book in her trunk.

Hermione stared at her heavy trunk, chewing her bottom lip in thought. Was she supposed to bring it, or would someone else take care of it? She peeked out the compartment window and saw that students weren't carrying theirs, but that didn't mean that they hadn't shrunk them.

Better to be safe. Pulling out her wand - the slender wood was warm and content in her hands - she tapped the trunk and said the same spell Munin had used.

"_Reducio_."

The trunk shuddered a bit, but stayed stubbornly the same size. Hermione scowled and rapped it harder. "_Reducio_." This time it shrunk in half, but nowhere near the size she intended. Breathing deeply, Hermione sighed in annoyance. _Magic is less dependent upon power than visualization. Power may compensate for ineptitude or a lack of practice, but may only do so much. Visualize what you demand of the spell, especially for an unfamiliar spell._

Eyes closed, Hermione saw the trunk shrink to the size and weight of a matchbox. Without opening them, she intoned the spell a third time and heard a pop.

She rolled her eyes with a grin. Munin was right, as usual.

Her trunk in a pocket, Hermione joined the throng of students leaving the train. Outside, a very large man with a lantern called for the first years, and she quickly found herself in a boat with Neville, a red-headed boy who looked like a brother of Mr. Prefect, and a small boy with a mop of wild black hair.

"Hello again, Neville," she said kindly. "Still have a hand on Trevor?"

He nodded with chagrin, patting his cloak pocket. "He does like to roam a bit, but the train didn't seem like a safe place."

The redhead snorted. "Not with those poncy Slytherins around," he said darkly. "I bet they'd take him and use him for potions, or for hexes."

Neville went white, but Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly? That's hardly helpful, and they're not all so bad."

The boy narrowed his eyes at her and was about to argue when the boats jumped forward. The argument was forgotten as the boats rounded a rocky cliff ledge and the brilliant outline of a castle thrust into the air, piercing the sky as it twirled upwards into the starry night. The image was doubled by the calm water, and Hermione's breath caught in her throat.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The smell of the air was slightly different; it seemed almost charged with a mysterious sharpness. She opened her eyes to see the light from the stars dance, almost sparkling as it reflected upon the air itself.

Hermione felt for an instant as if she was a princess returning from exile, and nature herself was welcoming her home with open arms. The air surrounded her and she swore she felt a light caress on her cheek and soft breath kissing her hair.

Magic. It was all magic.

She knew that, finally, she was home.


End file.
